-----
They moved before Alan could even notice them.
"Hey, dumbass—heads up."
Alan turned his head—"huh?"
WHAM.
A punch slammed into his back, knocking the wind from his lungs. His books exploded out of his arms, smacking the floor and skidding across the hallway.
Students gasped. Phones came up instantly.
Someone yelled, "Yo, Mark just sucker-punched Alan!"
Another kid snorted, "Eh, he had it coming. Bro thinks being top of the class makes him better than everyone."
Alan gritted his teeth, slowly straightening. His vision blurred from the impact, but the shape of Mark's stupid grin was clear.
Mark stepped closer, shadow falling over Alan.
"What's wrong, Winchester? Looking for something down there?"
John added, "Yeah, heard you've been running your mouth lately. Talking trash and shit. Cute. But you forgot to pay your dues. School food's ass… so cough up."
Alan's fists curled tight. His heartbeat wasn't fear—just anger, calculation, pressure.
He didn't want a fight. But the fight wanted him.
"…fuck it…" Alan muttered. "You assholes think you can do whatever you want? Huh?"
The hallway stirred.
Mark and John blinked.
Then burst into loud, stupid laughter.
Mark held his stomach. "Ooohhh shit, he thinks he can fight us?! That's adorable."
John wiped tears from his eyes. "Bro broke him with that hit. Look at him. Dude looks like he's gonna murder us or something. Scaryyy."
Alan inhaled through his nose. He was outmatched. Powerless. But he wasn't backing down.
He raised his head. His voice was steady.
"Just don't mistake my silence for weakness. I didn't fight because I didn't want trouble. But if you disrespect me… I'm done letting it slide."
Mark and John blinked again.
Then smiled.
Mark rolled his shoulders. "Reaaaally, and what a loser like you gonna do huh?"
John lunged first—fast, sloppy. A punch straight at Alan's ribs.
Alan dodged—barely and then swung back. Missed. Fuck.
Mark came in with a hook—
Alan ducked—And that was the opening they wanted.
John swept his legs fast.
CRACK.
Alan hit the ground hard.
"Got your ass now, bitch," John sneered, kicking him in the side.
"Ugh—shit—" Alan gasped as pain shot through him.
He rolled away, panting, forcing himself up.
Students cheered. Some recorded. Some walked off. Someone whispered, "Fight's ass, man, hurry up."
Mark's smile faded. "Annoying little shit—"
John shoved Mark's arm away. "Let me handle this—"
He grabbed Alan's collar and yanked him back.
A punch landed in his gut.
Alan's breath vanished.
John's voice dripped venom.
"You think you can fight me? You powerless pathetic little fuck?"
Another hit—ribs. Another—jaw. Another—kidney.
Alan stumbled, fighting to stay conscious.
"Yoi think you have a chance lowlife, Still wanna act tough?" John hissed.
Mark grabbed John's arm. "Dude, chill—you're gonna seriously hurt him—"
John shoved him away. "Move."
A knee slammed into Alan's stomach, folding him.
He collapsed on the cold floor, gasping.
Blood slipped down his lip. He tried to crawl—John stomped his arm.
Mark crouched beside him.
"That's enough. He won't snitch. Look at him. I… couldn't hold John back so try to think before you speak next time nerd."
John Laughed. "Pathetic."
He reached into Alan's pocket. "Lunch money tax."
Coins jingled. Their footsteps faded.
The crowd dispersed. (Students)
"Show's over."
'Bro didn't do shit."
"What a loser."
"Should've stayed quiet, man."
"Let's dip."
Laughter.
Alan didn't move for a moment. His breath rattled. His back throbbed. His ribs screamed every time he inhaled.
-----
Finally, he pushed himself up—fingers trembling—gripping the locker for support.
"…Come back you assholes…" he whispered under his breath.
Students walked past him without looking. Not out of cruelty—out of indifference.
John's voice echoed from down the hall:
"I still can't believe this weakling dodged some of our hits."
Mark laughed back.
"He had me for a sec. Thought he'd pull some hidden bullshit. Guess not."
Their voices faded.
Alan's hands shook as he wiped blood from his lip. He stared down at the floor—scuffed tiles, dust, dropped papers.
Then his eyes hardened.
The humiliation burned. But something inside him burned hotter.
"I swear to God…" he whispered, voice trembling with fury. "…I'm done being weak. I'll remember this. Every word. Every hit."
His fists tightened." I'll become the best my bloodline has ever seen. I'll use my rage to gain strength.
Breathing through his nose:" Strength is the only thing that matters in this world. Anything else is just a delusion for the weak. There is one certainty in life—a strong man stands above and conquers all."
His heartbeat steadied.
And the rage settled into something colder—Determination.
Three Months Later
Metal clanged. Breathing echoed. Sweat dripped onto the gym mats in slow, heavy beats.
Alan's fists slammed into the heavy bag—sharp thud… thud… THUD. His knuckles didn't look like they belonged to a rich kid anymore. Rough. Red. Hardened. His shoulders flexed with every strike, the months of punishment carved into them.
He wasn't huge. He wasn't a bodybuilder.
But he wasn't fragile anymore.
No more shaky stance. No more flinching. No more waiting for someone to save him.
His feet glided across the floor—light, precise. Tap. Pivot. Slide. Counter.
The bag jolted back violently as he drove a right hook into it, his breath ripping from his throat.
He stepped back, chest heaving. Three months of this. Three months of pushing until his muscles screamed and his head spun.
His reflection on the gym mirror looked back—jaw sharper, posture confident, not a trace of the helpless kid from the hallway.
He wiped sweat from his brow with a towel, breathing hard.
Then he stopped. Closed his eyes. Remembered John's knee slamming into his stomach. Remembered Mark whispering "know your place."
His jaw tightened.
"Never again…" he muttered, voice low.
He grabbed his towel, slung it over his shoulder, and left the gym.